


Hochstetter's Halloween Party - Part One

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:07:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It's been a busy October, all kinds of lovely and very successful monkey business going on.  So what do Hogan and the guys need to make their month complete?  According to Sergeant Andrew Carter, there is only one answer.  A Halloween party, obviously!  Complete with costumes, songs, stories, punch and other refreshments, candy grab-bags, some fun and games.  Add in a 'Top Secret - Urgent' assignment from London, a phobia-ridden defector, and an overly-friendly Major Hochstetter, and what more could they possibly ask??   Trust me, don't ask!





	1. Chapter 1

October. It was a pretty typical month for the Command Crew at the little Travelers' Aid and Miscellaneous Endeavors Unit of Stalag 13 - their 'name' for the month. (They never HAD figured out a really good title to give their little side-lines, the acronyms kept screwing up the works, and Hogan insisted they give that due consideration. Well, he had a reputation, AND a future career to consider, after all!). 

So far, they'd blown up a bridge, met with Rene and the local Underground to plot strategy a couple of times, sent twenty escaped airmen on their merry way back to London, conned Klink into, well, pretty much anything Hogan took a notion to, Hogan scratched another couple of 'notches' on his belt buckle (new ones, no repeats). Pretty much the usual.

Carter had made a supply run into Hammelburg and fell up the steps of Morgen's Bakery, garnering an impressive set of bruises. No, not down the twelve steep steps to the basement - UP the four easy wide steps to the main entrance. Well, it was Andrew, after all. If anyone could manage that little trick, HE could. 

He'd also made a really nifty batch of disappearing ink, some new kind of glue and the solvent meant to do the dissolving of said glue, and three bombs - not for any particular reason, any of it, but he figured it would all come in handy sooner or later. Oh, and he'd gotten the water bucket stuck on his head. No, don't ask.

As for Newkirk, he had lifted two wallets and a set of keys, forged a dozen perfectly lovely sets of documents for future passers-through, put the finishing touches on a beautifully tailored German officer's uniform for Hogan, and replied to his sister Mavis' last letter, neatly bypassing all her slightly impertinent questions as to his welfare and his behavior, and making it sound like he was giving sincere consideration to all that sisterly advice she'd decided he just couldn't do without. 

Well, he didn't mind GETTING the advice; it showed she cared, after all, and there were bloody few who did care about Peter Newkirk. But he certainly had no intention of FOLLOWING said advice! Mavis was a good girl, a fine sister, but frankly, she just didn't much have a clue about one Peter Newkirk! Well, no, he had to admit, maybe she did, which is where all those questions, that advice was coming from, but that didn't mean he had to LISTEN!

LeBeau had transformed a pile of nothing-particularly-promising (provided by Newkirk and his scavenging skills) into quite adequate, even quite palatable meals (even if they did have a certain French flair, and don't think he didn't hear about THAT from Newkirk!). 

Plus he had squeezed into Klink's very small anteroom closet to overhear that 'vitally important conversation' between General Burkhalter and the Kommandant, only to emerge sick from the close quarters and lack of oxygen, as well as being highly annoyed that that conversation consisted only of Burkhalter's need (ie. order) for Klink to escort Burkhalter's unmarried 'but extremely marriageable' second cousin Ermentrude to a charity event in the middle of November. Oh, he wasn't quite as sick as Klink looked when they emerged, but it was probably a toss-up. Oops, bad choice of words. Sorry.

Kinch had finally deciphered that weird coded message he'd gotten from the Karlsbaad Underground Unit, which was easier once he figured out the sender had an rare form of dyslexia, similar to one his cousin had, actually. Well, that was better than his first impression, that the sender had a really odd sense of humor or was trying to drive him nuts. Now, he just calmly made his notes about what was versus what was intended, in case someone else had to do the decoding next time. 

He didn't like leaving things written down, even in his own shorthand that he'd taught Newkirk and Carter, but he knew they'd never figure out the trick on their own. And he was a practical man - war was a chancy business, and if he got caught during one of his admittedly rare foray's outside of camp, there was no way he was coming back. The krauts would be thrilled with the chance to see to that!

Olsen? Well, he'd been in and out, around and about, keeping a low profile while inside the camp, then doing whatever the hell he did when he was outside the fence. Sometimes the others just had to wonder, but the way it was set up, it was probably safer if no one knew. Of course, Carter had a better idea than most, maybe, at least partly but Carter wasn't about to tell. Carter was a lot of things - just ask around and the list would start, with Newkirk adding about fifty or so words to the list - but he wasn't a snitch, for which Olsen was eternally grateful. 

The only amusement, other than the cockroach races, and they were getting old, and besides that stray cat had eaten the two odds-on favorites, was the ongoing bickering between Carter and Newkirk. Or as Kinch put it, 'same old bickering, just a different day, a different subject.'

The subject this time? How to deal with the last day of the month - October 31st. 

Olsen was keeping tabs as the bickering (arguing, discussion, wrangling, oh, whatever you elected to call it!) worked its way through the usual back and forth routine. He had his own private method of keeping score, though had to admit it could get complicated with those two. 

Sometimes the figuring out who'd won points, when and where, and who'd come out ahead in the final tally took longer than the whole argument took, though not always. Some of those arguments could have won world-records for length, as well as sheer complexity.

Well, the Carter/Newkirk thing was more like a game of table tennis than anything else, at least that's what Olsen thought. One would come up with a comment or an idea, the other would retort or sometimes seemingly approve but repeat it back with a noticeable twist that changed the whole idea, generating a come-back, which generated its OWN come-back, and on and on it went.

It had been going on pretty much ever since when Carter had settled down in that lower bunk in Barracks 2, when he first came to camp, and it was a source of both amusement and annoyance to their fellow prisoners. 

Olsen had the feeling it was more entertainment to the pair of THEM than anything else, though neither were likely to admit to that. Well, Carter didn't want to admit he was conscious of it being a game in the first place, and Newkirk sure didn't want to admit he found it all more than a little diverting. Just like Olsen, they both had an image to maintain, and their behavior toward each other was just part of that.

Outsiders, whether fellow prisoners or guards or whoever, sometimes didn't understand, most often did NOT see it for what it was, that relationship - usually felt there was some serious animosity there. Similar to the way some interpreted the bickering between Newkirk and LeBeau, in fact.

(Those who took that misunderstanding, well, either one of them actually, to the point of trying to weaponize it against any of the participants soon discovered their mistake. Usually the hard way, at the end of Newkirk's fist.). 

And in a way it was easy to see how the misunderstanding occured. While Carter was sort of like a playfully-clumsy hound dog pup tripping over its own oversized feet in his approach to Newkirk, Newkirk prided himself on holding himself somewhat aloof, showing just how naive and clueless and totally exasperating he found the young American Sergeant. 

Of course, Newkirk would have taken a bullet rather than let anything happen to Carter, and in fact, had done just that several months back. There was some sincere affection there, Olsen knew, but the stubborn Englishman was determined not to show it. 

Olsen found the whole thing a welcome diversion, privately thought of it as 'The Newkirk and Carter Show', and whenever one segment ended, he looked forward to the next installment.

So, when he saw that look from Carter and heard the opening music (just in his head, of course), Olsen was ready and eager to see what the theme would be this time. 

First there was the enthusiastic overture from Carter. 

"Hey, I just realized, guys! It's gonna be Halloween in another couple of weeks!"

Newkirk had responded with a very laconic, "if yer talking about the 31st of this month, it's properly called 'All 'Allows' Eve', Andrew, no matter 'ow much you Yanks tried to mangle the term. And w'at are you getting so bloody excited for, anyway?"

Then, of course, there was the wide-eyed astonishment that Newkirk didn't feel the same level of excitement that Carter obviously did, and the long, convoluted explanation of why Halloween was something to BE excited about, no matter WHAT you called it. 

"And give me a break" he'd snickered. "Really? 'All Hallows' Eve'?? Gee, Newkirk, just because you British are stuck back in the Middle Ages or something, doesn't mean the rest of the civilized world hasn't progressed!"

"And I suppose you're including Bullfrog, North Dakota in that 'civilized world', Andrew?" Newkirk asked with raised brows.

It went on from there, and some guys tuned in for the show, some tuned out, depending on their level of interest or level of boredom.

Then something happened that stopped The Newkirk and Carter Show as quickly as an electrical outage would have, had it really been a radio broadcast.

Hochstetter arrived.

That sounds so innocent. 'Hochstetter - arrived.' Two little words, but the enormity of what that meant, or at least could mean for the men at Stalag 13 was staggering. 

Major Wolfgang Hochstetter - Gestapo. And he hadn't come alone. Well, he never did - always brought his own contingent of bully boys, and this time was no different, except in the sheer quantity of them. Two whole truck loads full, in fact, lumbering along behind the sputtering, limping staff car containing one livid man with a quivering moustache. 

Well, there was also a Corporal Bohn who acted as the Major's adjutant, and the driver, but the IMPORTANT one was Hochstetter - a man bound and determined to catch Papa Bear, otherwise known as Colonel Robert Hogan.

They, meaning Newkirk, Carter, LeBeau and Kinch (who had long ago convinced Klink they were the closest thing he was likely to find to being mechanically competent, none among his guards meeting that criteria) were dragooned into trying to get Hochstetter's car up and running and they DID try. Lord knows they wanted the man anywhere but Stalag 13, but the parts weren't available in camp or in town, and getting them wasn't something they could do easily. 

Hogan explained that to Hochstetter, who ordered Bohn to get on the phone and GET those parts, now! But the parts are hard to come by, even for a Gestapo major, and would take several days to be shipped in from the factory, so Hochstetter kicked Klink out of his quarters and settled down to wait.

Hogan, being pressured by London to get a certain job "DONE, for goodness sake, Papa Bear; it's scarcely the time to be taking a tea break!" was pressing his men to try HARDER to 'find a way!' to get those parts quicker. 

While the others just muttered their dissatisfaction with bearing the brunt of the colonel's getting chewed out by his superiors, Newkirk was a little more direct. Well, he always was the one for pushing the boundaries.

"I'd pull them out of me arse if I could, if it'd get the bloke on 'is way, Colonel," Newkirk explained with more than a little frustration in his voice. "But seeing me arse seems to 'ave a short supply of those particular parts at this particular time . . ." 

He could tell that Hogan didn't particularly appreciate the attitude, but he didn't particularly appreciate the wild expectations from their leader at times. 

Hogan decided to ignore the insubordination evident in the Englishman's voice, knowing he'd primed the pump himself, so to speak. 

"So, we're stuck with him. And we STILL have to get Brueggeman into camp once he gives his 'bodyguards' the slip. With Hochstetter here, using those men of his on constant patrols outside the fence and on the gate, we can't use the tunnel entrance. They're searching the dog truck upside and down every trip, so that's out. The only other thing is to either put Hochstetter out of commission, or distract him, or something," Hogan thought out loud. "Drugging him would probably bring a mountain of trouble down on us, though we may have to make a run at that if all else fails. Once Brueggeman makes his move, we've got to be up and ready for him, get him processed and off to London."

All the men were glumly considering that, when Carter brightened.

"Well, we could get word to him, make sure he understands he has to time it just right, be ready on the 31st. Then we could have a costume party, for Halloween, you know, and invite some of the biggies from town. Everyone would be in costumes - that's like being in disguise, and this Brueggeman could be dressed up too, and no one would even notice him! And it would be a heck of a lot of fun, too!"

Newkirk erupted. "Again with your bloody fixation with what you Yanks insist on calling 'alloween! Carter, we're in the middle of a war, with enough 'orrors to satisfy most anyone! Ain't that enough? We all 'ave to go wearing a mask and silly clothes along with it, just to make you 'appy??! Do enough of that anyway, don't you think, w'at with all the voice impersonations and all those different outfits down in my tailor shop?"

"Yeah, well, pretend is different from doing a job, Newkirk! And I still don't see why it's any better to call October 31st 'All Hallows' Eve' instead of Halloween; it's the same thing, just OURS is more scrunched together! And dressing up is FUN!"

"Oh, well, that's just fine; this is already such a fun spot, might as well add to it. Now 'ere's a lovely idea, Carter," Newkirk said sarcastically. "Maybe we can get 'ochstetter and the bloomin' Gestapo to dress up too, w'ile we're at it? Can't leave 'im and 'is Stormtroopers out of the fun, now can we?? Maybe Klink would like to join in too! Maybe get them bobbing for some a them flippin' apples too, while we're at it!"

Somehow the thoughtful silence, the sudden exchange of glances between his teammates, even the Colonel, that followed his sarcastic diatrabe made Newkirk very uncomfortable. He did SO hate it when people took his flights of fancy and tried to turn them into something solid.

{"Bloody 'ell! Guy can't even pull a little 'ealthy snark without them taking the idea and running off the edge of a cliff with it!"} he moaned to himself, seeing the light of inspiration rising in his fellow teammates. 

Yeah, maybe he should have known better, but really, surely even THIS crew couldn't make something out of a notion as bloody outrageous as . . . {"Oh, Bloody 'ELL!"} seeing the slowly-dawning smiles and gleams of appreciation in their eyes. 

Hogan, who'd not said much of anything up to this point, made it official. "Carter, now that Newkirk's pointed it out, I think you just might have something there."

Carter gaped. "I DO??! Well, yeah, I guess I do," looking around proudly, just in time to get a firm smack on the head from Newkirk's cap. 

"Now, the only question is, how do we get Hochstetter on board?"


	2. Chapter 2

Stalag 13 - Major Hochstetter had at first cursed the necessity for spending any time in this verdampter place that was the source of so much of his ongoing frustration, but now it appeared that sudden mechanical difficulty with his staff car had been rather lucky. 

Finding out repairs would require parts not found locally, that he would be stuck until replacements could be sent down on the train from Berlin, that was most annoying, enough his troops were walking on eggshells to avoid his temper. Well, yes, he did tend to have one, but only with justification, he would have argued, and most reasonably.

Oh, he could have abandoned the car, taken one from Klink's motor pool, but there was all that lovely contraband he had stashed here and there in that staff car, and he had no intention of abandoning any of that! And to try and transfer it from one vehicle to another unseen would only be asking for trouble. 

Still, he was well within his purview, in his opinion. After all, if the High Command so obviously approved of the old saying 'the spoils of war belong to the victors', who was he to contradict them? No, it was only his duty as a loyal officer to emulate his superiors, not question their moral judgment! Though that nonsense about it being an AMERICAN saying was obviously nonsense - it was far too Germanic in feeling for that!! Probably the American who said it had heard it on a visit to Berlin and tried to pretend HE made it up! It would be SO like them!!

So, instead of being out THERE, futilely chasing shadows supposedly belonging to the elusive Papa Bear, here he was, miraculously on the verge of a major breakthrough! Well, at least on the verge of the opportunity to MAKE such a breakthrough! 

After all, he just KNEW that Colonel Robert Hogan WAS Papa Bear, and since Colonel Hogan was HERE (at least when he wasn't sneaking out to cause confusion and destruction), where better to find evidence of that fact??! 

All that had to happen was for him to be quietly observant while he was here. Admittedly that was a little different from his preferred style of screaming and slashing away at things, but perhaps worth a try. He seemed to remember his dear mother telling him that, long, long ago, when she was mopping up the blood and breakage from where he had been trying to persuade his younger cousin, Krueger, to tell him where he'd hidden those sugar cookies. 

Surely, if he watched and listened, with a little luck those stupid prisoners would betray themselves, and Papa Bear right along with them.

Some would have called it an accident, of course, rounding the corner, finding Hogan's men huddled around, talking low among themselves. Not one realized Hochstetter was standing there in the shadows. They'd all thought he was still in there yelling at Klink. 

But Hochstetter knew it was NO accident, it was a living testament to his newfound skill of watching and listening and observing. He was more than a little pleased to find that he had a natural knack for it. 

{"Well, I have a natural knack, a true natural talent, for a great MANY things!"}

No, they hadn't known he was anywhere around; he was certain of that. Surely they wouldn't have been discussing important plans, or as that infuriating English corporal had called it, "this bloody stupid, gonna get us all in a world of trouble, Halloween bit of 'excitement' Carter dreamed up and all of you seem to be going along with! 

"Still think we need to wake the Colonel, run it past 'im before we 'ead down that path. To my mind, sounds simpler and less painful to just rush the gate and get our 'eads shot off! Aint like we NEED to make an effort to go the long way around, you know! Can get frightened out of my wits, 'ave my head dunked in a pail of water, be blindfolded and given my choice of w'ich among such lovely 'treats' I want next, being forced to eat w'at my mum wouldn't 'ave 'ad the 'eart to put out for the rats, any day of the bloody year, you know, don't need a special day for it!", if they'd known the Gestapo major had been listening. 

It was such a wonderful opportunity, Hochstetter just couldn't resist. He listened til the approach of one of the guards made the men scatter to the four winds. One name had stood out, the one who supposedly had initiated this plan. HE was the one Hochstetter needed to deal with, and he was sure he would find the appropriate way, the most EFFECTIVE way! After all, that name, that man, was not totally unfamiliar to him.

Slipping away, he made his way back to Klink's quarters that he had commandeered upon his arrival, relegating the whiny Kommandant to the so-called 'guest quarters' where Klink had suggested the Major stay. Bah! Like Hochstetter intended to sleep in there! Let that miserable excuse for a German officer cower in there like a whipped puppy. 

{"Maybe I can find out where he hides his liquor supply, because for what I am thinking, that would be most helpful!"}

He did locate the bottles, all three of them, snorting with disgust at the label, and poured himself a drink to aid the thinking process. Finally he got up, stuck his head out the door, and motioned to Sergeant Schultz, standing guard at the corner, to come closer.

"Bring me that one, you know, the stupid annoying one in Barracks 2," he ordered. "I have some questions for him."

"The Englander, Herr Major?" Schultz asked. He had had a long day, really wanted to go soak his aching feet, and wasn't interested in playing guessing games, but if the Major wanted to play guessing games, who was he to object? Objecting to officers and their foolishness led to being sent to very cold places from which you did not return.

Hochstetter frowned, "did I say the stubborn, disrespectful, annoying, complaining one? No, I did not, Sergeant. The STUPID annoying one, the one in the leather jacket and cap who will not stop talking."

"I do not know that I would call Colonel Hogan stupid, Herr Major," Schultz said with wide eyes. "He IS the Senior Prisoner of War, and an officer, so . . ."

"Schultz, you idiot!!! Not Hogan! I do not want to see Hogan! I do not even want to hear that man's name! I also do not want him to know about this! Bring the one in the jacket and cap who will not stop talking, the one who is even less intelligent than you!!!"

Schultz face lit up with understanding, "ah, you wish to see Sergeant Carter. Now I understand!" {"Officers! Big-shots! They always think you can read their minds!"}

Soon Sergeant Andrew Carter was escorted into the room, cap in hand, apprehension written all over his face. 

"You wanted to see me, Major? Gee, I don't know if I'm supposed to be talking to you without Colonel Hogan here." He frowned thoughtfully, considering the matter. "Of course, I don't know he ever said so, not flat out that way. But maybe I oughta go ask him," turning back toward the door.

"Stop!" Hochstetter barked, but then struggled to tone down the aggression, play up the sort of happy-go-lucky Gestapo major who, being bored and stuck in this place for a day or two, just might invite a fellow soldier over for a little glass of schnapps and a 'friendly chat', just to pass the time. 

{"Bah! The things I have to do in my job!!"}

"No, no, that is not necessary," he said while smiling a crocodile smile, his voice as soothing as he could manage. Admittedly, that wasn't so very much, but it was a sincere effort. 

"We will not be talking about anything that would upset, uh, concern, um, INTEREST Colonel Hogan. It is just a night for talking to friends, eh? Or perhaps for making new friends. Even in a war, there is time for that, surely?"

Carter blinked, tilting his head, thinking. It was more than obvious that such activity took a great deal of effort. 

"Friends, Major? Gee! You and me? Well, my mom always says, "you can't have too many friends, Andrew. The more the better." Of course, I don't know that my mom ever met any Nazi officers, she didn't get around much, but still . . ."

Hochstetter felt the muscles under his jaw start to tighten and twitch as he forced a friendly smile to his face. "Yes, well, it is always wise to listen to your mother. She sounds a most sensible woman."

An earnest nod, "oh, yeah! My mom's great! She's real pretty, and real nice! And real smart, too. Of course, folks say I'm a lot like her, so I guess that sounds like I'm bragging on myself, but really I'm not. It's just . . ."

"Yes, yes, I can certainly see that you and your mother must have a great deal in common." {"If she is a rambling imbecile!"}

"Come, sit, Carter. Here, have a glass of schnapps. Not the best, unfortunately, but Klink does not see fit to steal anything of quality, it seems. Tell me, a little birdy hinted that you and your other friends are perhaps planning something a little special? You wouldn't be planning an escape, now would you? That would probably not be wise, even with that fool of a Kommandant who pretends to be in charge here. It is as a friend that I offer a word of caution, you understand. Perhaps you could share what you have in mind, and I could offer a word of advice?"

Carter stared as if he was trying to figure out what Hochstetter was talking about. 

"Planning? Special?" 

Then his eyes got big and he squeeked, "an ESCAPE??? Shucks, no, Major! Why would we do a mean thing like that? You know how happy it makes Kommandant Klink to have an escape-proof camp! Why, that wouldn't be very nice at all, trying to ruin his record and everything! And it's not like we'd have any chance at really getting away anyhow! The guards here are just too good at their jobs! I mean, I bet they got top grades at guard school and everything!"

Hochstetter threw back that glass of schnapps in one swallow, thinking that might numb the misery of this conversation. 

{"I believe digging for gold would be less painful! Though rock could not be any thicker than his head!"}. 

Pouring another glass for himself, topping off the liquid in Carter's glass, he continued probing.

"Then what is it, this 'Halloween excitement' I heard someone mention? Something about being frightened, WANTING to be frightened? If you wish to be frightened, I believe I can arrange that." 

He just couldn't help it; a slow evil smile trickled out, his own nature rising to the forefront in spite of his best intentions. Carter started to look a little apprehensive, and Hochstetter caught himself and quickly brought his face under control, plastering that congenial avuncular image there once again. 

His own Uncle Gunter, to be exact. Always smiling, Uncle Gunter, nodding agreeably, always a kind word to say, even while he was strangling the life out of someone. As he had done several times. A man any good Gestapo officer could be proud to claim as family, Uncle Gunter.

Carter had to nod in quick agreement with Hochstetter's statement; well, if anyone could give you a good scare on Halloween, it would probably be the Gestapo major, considering how good a job he did the rest of the year, you know.

"Well, gee, Major, I know you could. You're the best at what you do. Everyone knows that. But that's not what Halloween's all about, not really. At least not anymore. It's about . . ." 

He paused, squinting as he thought about how to describe it. 

"It's about playing tricks and dressing up in neat costumes and fun games and telling stories, and stuff like that. And candy," he added with a bright innocent smile. "Candy's a real big part of it. Least back home, it was. Mrs. Lawrence would make fudge, sometimes with walnuts in it, and Miss Doris would make butterscotch, and my mom would make popcorn balls. Of course, I don't know that popcorn balls are technically considered candy, but . . ." 

The monologue went on as Carter argued with himself over the merits of popcorn balls and whether that sugar syrup that held them together was enough to make them 'candy' or not. Hochstetter was still on the first part of the monologue and pretty well missed the entire pro/cons section.

"Dressing up? Costumes?" Hochstetter shook his head, wondering if he was hearing right. "Candy? Games? But I thought I heard it was about frightening or maybe it was being frightened. Are you sure you are being completely honest with me, Carter? Friends should be honest with each other, you know. I'm sure your mother would agree with me." 

(The American seemed to have something of a mother-fixation, and Hochstetter thought he might be able to use that to his advantage.)

Dressing up, candy, games. Somehow, that certainly wasn't the impression he'd gotten from his eavesdropping. But now, in the face of the deluge of words from the American, he wasn't sure WHAT he'd heard, any more than what he was hearing now. He struggled to remember the exact words from that huddle outside the barracks. Maybe that third glass of inferior schnapps, or was it his fourth? Somehow, he'd managed to lose count! 

Well, when you were topping off the glasses at frequent intervals instead of just refilling empty ones, that did have a tendency to happen. Maybe THAT had something to do with his confusion, but no, it was probably just the American Sergeant.

Newkirk would have sympathized. Well, he would have if he ever could have forced himself to sympathize with the Nazi major who gave them so much grief. But at least he would have understood Hochstetter's obvious bewilderment. Carter tended to have that impact on him as well, as often as not.

"My mom? Well, sure, she always told me that 'honesty is the next best thing to godliness', Andrew.' She had a whole bunch of really neat sayings, stuff that really hit the nail right on the edge. 'A picture book of a thousand words is better than a short story.' 'Still waters run real quiet.' 'A fool and his honey are soon parted.' That last was part of her 'birds and bees' lecture, I think. Boy, ya know, Major, I always figured someone should just follow her around and write down all the nifty things she came up with; bet it would make a really good book. Yeah, my mom, she's the smart one, alrighty."

Hochstetter shook his head rapidly, as if trying to get rid of cobwebs, or a really persistent ear-worm. However, that ear-worm was burrowing deeper all the time.

"But about the being frightened stuff, on Halloween, it's more like, well, pretending to be frightened. Listening to ghost stories and acting like you're scared, even though we all knew there's no such thing as ghosts. I mean, they aren't real, are they? Not like vampires and werewolves and fairies and stuff are real. I mean, a story about a vampire or a werewolf would just be TOO scary to tell on Halloween, since you know that could really HAPPEN! 

"And, shucks, a lot of people think of fairies as all being little Tinkerbells, all smiles and happiness, but boy, some of them are real nasty guys, I can tell you that! Why, my grandpa could tell you stories that would curl your moustache! Even if you didn't HAVE one. Course, by the time he finished, you just might, especially if he was handing out some of his homemade moonshine. That stuff could really put hair on your face, like the old sayin goes."

Another sip of schnapps, draining his glass, licking his lips in appreciation, then he started up again while Hochstetter was still trying to sort all that out.

"Although, sometimes, the guys back home would come up with some stuff that really was over the top. Like that trick Jimmy Porter played on my best girl, Mary Jane - I thought she would NEVER stop screaming!!! It might not have been so bad with anyone else, but to give him credit, how was HE supposed to know she was that scared of chipmunks??! I mean, some people are, some people aren't, but I always figured if you lined them up, the ones who were and the ones who weren't, you'd have more in the weren't line. Of course, one or two like Mary Jane could sure make up for the rest. Did I tell you how much she screamed when those chipmunks jumped outta that hat box??!"

Hochstetter poured them both another drink. For Carter, in order to see if it would make the prisoner make more sense, certainly not to make him talk, because it seemed once the young man started talking, he wasn't likely to stop. 

For himself? If he had to listen to all of this, try to make some sense out of, figure out what those prisoners were REALLY up to, he NEEDED that drink.

Carter sipped at his new drink appreciatively. "And dressing up? SURE! We all did for the party over at the school house, all the kids anyhow. Sometimes you dressed up as who you'd like to be, maybe someone you really admired. Maybe like someone or something you read about or heard a story about, maybe someone exciting like a pirate or, or a king, or the strongman in a circus. I knew this one guy who dressed up like a horse - well, it was two guys actually, ya see, one did the front, the other the back. I always felt kinda sorry for the guy who had to be the hind end, though Mary Jane said it was a natural fit, seeing as how Lou Masters already WAS kinda a horse's hinny.

"Back home, the girls would sometimes be a princess, or a witch, or a milkmaid. Well, you didn't see Betty Krump dressing up like a milkmaid, that would have just been silly, ya know? Cause she really was one, at least her folks owned a dairy farm and all. 

"Once Mirabelle Thomas dressed up like a dance hall girl, and that was kinda neat. Though, I never thought dance hall girls wore that many clothes. I mean there was the real fancy part her mom made her out of the remnants of those green satin curtains that came in the church charity barrel and the chicken feathers from the last butchering, and it was real pretty and kinda skimpy, but she wore it on top of her regular everyday school dress, so it maybe kinda didn't have the same impact it probably would have otherwise. Also, she was just ten, so she didn't really have, um, you know!" Carter made a vague motion toward his chest, blushing just a little as he did so.

"Ooh, and once, Jeremiah Davenport dressed up like Little Bo Peep. He ended up winning the prize for Best Costume, since no one guessed who he was til the end when everyone had to go to the front of the room and say who they were, and what grade they were in, and tell why they chose who they were gonna dress up as. See, Jeremiah . . .

"ENOUGH!!!" 

By now Hochstetter's head was swimming, still stuck on this Mary Jane who was afraid of chipmunks, Mirabelle in her green satin curtains and chicken feathers worn over a plain schooldress, though part of him really was curious about why this Jeremiah decided to dress up as a 'bopeep'. In fact, he was more than a little curious about what a 'bopeep' was, though he knew from reading Karl Friedrich May what a dance hall girl was. 

He massaged his temples, thinking that might ease his headache a little. It didn't really. Newkirk could have told him it wouldn't; least it never had for him. A 'Carter headache' was one that just had to fade away on its own.

He snarled in exasperation, knowing it was just going to annoy him for the rest of the night, having those questions go unanswered. If there was one thing that drove him absolutely into a fury, it was having unanswered questions. That was partly why the matter of Papa Bear frustrated him so. He resisted, but then, with a huge sigh, gave in.

"Very well, I will ask! What is a bopeep and why did he dress up as one? But make it quick!" though he wasn't sure any explanation from this fool would be quick. He only hoped it was intelligible. He popped an insincere smile onto his face, and in a more placatory voice, added "please?"

Carter nodded eagerly.

"Well, a Little Bo Peep is someone who looks after sheep," an intent frown of concentration and possibly confusion coming to his slightly narrow face, "or has pet sheep, or is someone sheep just really like a lot, maybe. I was never real clear about that myself. There's this rhyme about her too, but I kinda forgot what it was exactly, except in it she seemed kinda careless with all those sheep. 

"But anyhow, in picture books, she's carrying this long staff with a loop at the top, and has this dress with all these ruffles, waaay out to here," motioning expansively with his hands, almost succeeding in knocking the schnapps bottle over in the process. Hochstetter barely grabbed it in time; he had a feeling he was going to need what was left in that bottle.

"And she has her hair in long ringlets, or maybe it's just real wavey," making fluttering motions with his hands, "and there's always this lamb she's looking for that's right behind her but she never sees it, see, cause she's looking in one direction and it's poking its head around her skirts in the other direction. 

"I always kinda felt sorry for her. I don't think she was all that smart, if she kept losing all those sheep. It's not like mice or something like that; sheep are pretty doggone big. And I figured her folks had to be real upset at her losing them all the time; I mean, sheep are expensive, ya know? Or maybe she just needed glasses. 

"I had this friend, Freddy Petty, and HE kept losing things all the time, tripping over stuff, calling people by the wrong name. We thought he was just being a jerk, til the teacher figured out he needed glasses. Why, that visiting eye doctor said he never HAD . . ."

Hochstetter held up his hand. "Yes, yes, I have the picture. Now, the why?"

"Oh, that made a lot of sense once he explained it all. See, he was gonna go dressed up like a cowboy. He even had a pair of leather chaps and everything, but then his mom went and washed his Sunday blue jeans, and they were still real wet, and his other pair had gotten really ripped up in that tussle with the farm dog that afternoon, and well, you can't go wearing chaps without pants. Folks wouldn't like that, and besides, I think you'd get a real draft, you know," illustrating with his hands what chaps were, and where chaps weren't. 

At least that's what Hochstetter hoped those faintly obscene gestures were intending to imply. He really didn't feel like dealing with sexual advances from this idiot, not even in return for information about Papa Bear!

"And as for him maybe just wearing the wet ones, you ever tried to put on a pair of soaking wet blue jeans, Major? Let me tell you, it's not easy. I had to do it once and I got them halfway up and just . . ."

Sensing Hochstetter's growing impatience, he hastened on to explain. 

"Well, anyhow, Jeremiah really, really wanted to go to the party cause there was gonna be punch and cookies and all the games, and grab-bags of candy, and he really wanted to see the other costumes, so he had to think of SOMETHING. 

"See, Jeremiah had six sisters, most too old to be going to the party, at least dressed up in a costume, but the one closest to him in size was still young enough, and she'd really been looking forward to it. Her mom had gone all out on her costume too, having those bed flounces from the charity barrel at the church. She used the yellow ones to make a real neat wig, and the blue ones and the white ones to make the dress, and more white ones to make those ruffly bloomer things girls used to wear under the dresses, you know, the ones that went all the way down to their ankles."

Carter blushed a little at mentioning the word 'bloomers' out loud, but then got back to the subject. Well, sort of, anyway, being it was Andrew.

"Golly, did you ever wonder about some of the funny things people stuff in those charity barrels? Yeah, I know, it's not nice to question a gift, but sometimes . . ."

Getting a growl from the Major, he hastened to get back to the story.

"Oh, anyway, Molly was gonna go as Little Bo Peep, but she'd come down with a bad cold and their mom said she couldn't go, and there was that costume just laying there, wig and all. Waste not, or someone might not ladle out a full plateful next time, as my mom always says. 

"And besides, Jeremiah didn't like snakes, and he figured that staff his dad had borrowed for Molly to use from the woman next farm over who HAD sheep would be real handy if he came across any in his way over to the party."

He paused to drink a little more schnapps, and after Hochstetter nodded his approval, refilled both their glasses before continuing.

"And he said it was really a lot of fun, wandering around, listening to what people were saying, watching what they were doing, and them thinking he was just some girl, maybe that friend of Joannie Cooper's that was visiting that no one had met yet, and not Jeremiah at all!

"He learned all kinds of neat stuff, too. In fact, Mr. Barkley, our teacher, even gave him a whole fifty cents not to tell about what he saw and heard in the back coat closet, when Mr. Barkley and Mrs. Davis went to talk about what was in those books they'd been reading. I guess they were trying to decide what to use for the class next term. Boy, was he lucky! Cause, it turned out they really didn't want anyone else to know, not yet. Wanted it to be a surprise, I bet.

"He got two more fifty-cent pieces when he just kinda mentioned that to MRS. Barkley and MR. Davis. Oh, not what he'd seen or heard, of course, but that he'd been paid NOT to tell and by who, and who'd stood there insisting Mr. Barkley "give him the fifty cents, sugar, and tell him to keep his fool mouth shut! And hurry! I'm getting cooled off over here; need my huggy bear to get me all warmed up again!" 

"Guess she really didn't want the kids to know they'd be reading 'Lady Chatterly's Gardener' or 'Molly From Flanders' or 'Fanny's Hill'. Well, the first might have been okay, cause we most all had a garden at home. But did all THREE have to be about girls? You'd have thought they could have come with one about a guy, maybe the Lone Ranger, or Robin Hood, or someone like that.

"But anyhow, there Jeremiah was, those nice shiny fifty-cent pieces in his pocket! He would have made more, telling all of us kids for five cents a tell, figuring those fifty-cent pieces only covered his not telling the grownups, but his mom heard him tell Joey first, and washed his mouth out with soap, and Joey's ears too, and Jeremiah had to eat standing up for a few days AND wear a piece of cloth around his mouth whenever he WASN'T eating just to remind him not to go blabbing everything he knew, and about NOT using words he DIDN'T know the proper meaning of.

"Well, that seemed a little harsh, least I thought so, but she was on the school committee, and she was a little upset at having to try and find a replacement for Mr. Barkley, after Mr. Davis went after him with his shotgun and all. But that was the next day, so we all still got to eat the candy and cookies, and play the games. 

"Say, did you ever bob for apples, Major? Or try to tell your fortune by dipping your fingers in glasses of water with different stuff floating around? Or try passing a raw egg down a line not using your hands at all? Or . . ."

Finally, a limp and worn-out Gestapo Major made his way to the door and yelled "Schultz! Take this man back where he came from. Or even farther, if you can arrange that. Just get him out of my sight and my hearing!"

Schultz bustled up, not for the world letting on he had been listening at the door, just to be sure Carter was okay. It was obvious that it wasn't Carter who'd taken the brunt of the evening, however, and he quickly gathered up the inanely grinning Sergeant to deliver him back to the barracks. Carter turned at the door for a final farewell.

"Well, thanks for the drinks and the conversation and the offer to be friends and all, Major. We should do it again some time, maybe after the war. You, me, our mom's. It'd be real fun."

"Schultz! Why is this man still here???!!!!!"

All the way across the compound Schultz was chuckling, and Andrew was almost giggling. 

"Carter, that was perhaps not too nice, also perhaps not too smart," the Sergeant said in an attempt to be severe - the chuckles were somewhat impeding that effort though.

"Yeah, maybe, Schultz, but it was a heck of a lot of fun!" Carter snorted.

"Well, Andrew?" Newkirk asked impatiently, throwing down his cards he'd been nervously shuffling when an amused Sergeant Schultz brought a jaunty, if rather inebriated Andrew Carter back to the barracks. "Did 'e take the bait?"

That extra guard Hochstetter had placed inside the barracks, the one Schultz retrieved when he delivered Carter back safe and sound, had precluded the rest of them listening in on the coffee pot, though Hogan had managed, since the guard hadn't quite dare intrude on a surprisingly surly Senior Prisoner of War in his own quarters. Hogan hadn't said a word when he came out, but there was something in his eyes and amused smile that reassured them that Carter had survived, anyway.

Carter smiled a sly and knowing smile. 

"Piece of pie, Peter. No problem at all. And, boy, I don't know what kind of schooling they give these guys, but can you believe he didn't know much about Halloween at all?? Heck, he didn't even know who Little Bo Peep was!!"

Newkirk opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, then closed it quickly, without saying anything. 

{"No, keep your flaming trap shut, Peter. You'll just start 'im going and life is just way too short to sit 'ere listening to Andrew rambling on about Little Bo Peep!"}

"Well, Andre, just who WAS Little Bo Peep?" came from the little Frenchman in the barracks, giving a mischievous glance over at Newkirk, who was giving him a very dirty look indeed.

"Just 'ad to do it, didn't you, Louie?! Just couldn't let well enough alone, you just 'ad to get 'im going again!" the Englishman proclaimed with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes as a happy Carter proceeded to tell the whole barracks about Little Bo Peep. And about the candy. And about all the games. 

And finally, about a very confused Gestapo major who was starting on that second (or maybe, somehow, the THIRD) bottle of schnapps after calling for Schultz to "take him back where he belongs. IF they will allow him back. Personally, I would be happy to negotiate with the Red Cross to send him back to his unit, wherever that may be. It would greatly improve our chances for winning this war!!"


	3. Chapter 3

So things were in full swing, on BOTH sides of the compound, in preparation for the Halloween excitement. Hogan's crew was busy planning the party and getting a message to the big-shot they were going to smuggle out of Germany. 

In the meantime, Hochstetter was busy figuring out how to get into that party, unnoticed, so he could eavesdrop and maybe learn more about Papa Bear. 

He wasn't quite sure when or even why the notion came to him {"perhaps something that idiot Carter said?"}, but, after finally getting over that unbelieveable hangover he'd awakened with that next morning, suddenly he got a wild gleam in his beady eyes, and started scribbling down a list.

"Bohn! Get in here, immediately," he yelled, and as always, his adjutant, the eager-to-please Lieutenant Krueger Bohn dashed in. 

Sometimes it annoyed Hochstetter just a little, how Bohn seemed to always be hovering, just waiting to be of service, but he knew he'd be highly annoyed if Bohn WASN'T right there when he was needed. After all, what good was a right-hand-man if he wasn't at your right hand?

In addition to his many other attributes, Bohn knew when and how to keep his mouth shut. After all, he WAS Uncle Gunter's youngest son, Hochstetter's younger cousin, and one of the first things Uncle Gunter's children had learned was how important it was to keep quiet about where the bodies were buried. In Uncle Gunter's case, literally. Gunter had also learned early on not to hide sugar cookies from his cousin Wolfgang.

He laid out the situation, and the plan.

"You want me to be YOU, Cousin Wolfgang? I mean, Major? But aside from our height, we look nothing alike! I mean, yes, there are certain faint similarities, but I'm not nearly as good-looking as you are, and I have never been successful at growing a moustache, not like yours, anyway. And I could never convince anyone I was you! I simply do not have the dignity, the poise, the fire that you have, Major. Why, the minute I step into the room, they would know . . ." 

Yes, that was another thing Hochstetter liked about Bohn - he was such a total sycophant! So gratifying!

"But that is the beauty of it, Bohn. We will both be in costume. We will make sure everyone knows what we each will be wearing, let them see us in them perhaps. But then, we will secretly switch, you into MY costume, me into yet a third costume, one they associate with neither of us! You see?"

Bohn gasped. "It is a brilliant plan, Major. Of course, all of your plans are brilliant, but this one shines above all the rest!"

One of things about Bohn that irritated Hochstetter was that way he had of applauding every move the major made. {"If I sneeze, I would not be surprised to hear him praising the 'sheer beauty' of the sneeze!"} Hochstetter sneered to himself.

Yes, that was contradictory, but Hochstetter considered that a positive thing, proving that, unlike what SOME people said, he was quite capable of looking at both sides of a situation. He even found himself able to take opposing viewpoints, within minutes of each other, and prove them BOTH to be the better one! {"Perhaps, after the war, I will go into politics. I believe it would suit my abilities, my talents, quite well."}

In the end, Hochstetter decided Bohn's FIRST costume would be Hochstetter's own dress uniform, but worn with a three quarter mask. As he explained to Bohn, "that will reinforce the image, you see, that I am there, but not have them realize I am not where they THINK I am," tapping his temple for emphasis.

He rolled his eyes at the new wave of adulation coming his way from his cousin, but had to admit, every glowing word was no less than the truth. It really WAS a brilliant scheme, one he had every confidence would work.

Actually, Krueger Bohn had just had a rather brilliant scheme of his own, one that would cause his illustrious cousin a great deal of trouble before long, if HE had any say about it. But, unlike the sickening drivel that Krueger Bohn had taught himself to use so effectively, the nonsense Wolfgang had always eaten up, indeed hungered for, THAT brilliant scheme Krueger kept to himself. Yes, his father had taught him well. Very, very well.

Because, pretending to be his hotshot cousin? This wouldn't be his first go at that, though it would be the first time it was with that ScheiBkopf's knowledge, certainly the first time with his permission. 

Not alike? Really?? Krueger's mother and Wolfgang's mother were identical twins, their fathers were first cousins and only family could tell THEM apart. The two had been indistinguishable as children, once they had reached a certain age, and even now, only their clothes, the style of their hair, and Wolfgang's moustache (bah, that absurd moustache!) and that officer's uniform and insignia were all that told them apart! 

Well, other than the mannerisms, of course. Those were quite different; Krueger had made sure to keep his as different from his cousin's as possible, for many resons. 

However, Krueger had mastered both sets, his and his cousin's. After all, you just never knew when the right opportunity might present itself. He didn't know for quite WHAT, but he had always been sure he would recognize it when it happened, and he was getting the feeling that the time was approaching fast. 

In fact, he was getting an image of a terrible accident. Or perhaps, an ambush by these prisoners. Or SOMETHING of that nature. 

Yes, that could work nicely - an ambush, maybe a devious plot by these prisoners. Perhaps he might even be able to lay the blame on that Colonel Hogan, the one Wolfgang was convinced was the infamous 'Papa Bear'. Bohn wasn't so sure his cousin was right about that, but it was something to work with.

{"Major Wolfgang Hochstetter. But a vastly improved, far more efficient Major Wolfgang Hochstetter; a Major Wolfgang Hochstetter destined to now rise in the ranks with amazing speed. Pity about that assistant of his, Bohn or whatever his name was, but at least the Major came out with a whole skin."}

Meanwhile, in Barracks 2, the plans were going along, perhaps with somewhat less confidence being exhibited, certainly less elation (with Andrew Carter being the possible exception), but still, progress was being made. 

Well, they DID have the more complicated part, after all. They not only had to arrange for the bigshot to make it into camp, undetected, but ALSO had to put together a party sufficiently interesting (or at least confusing) as to keep Hochstetter not only occupied but totally in the dark about what ELSE was going on.

Newkirk was getting bombarded with requests to make costumes of all sorts, which for a few glowing hours looked as if it was going to turn into a lucrative proposition, until Hogan nixed the idea of him charging for his services. 

"After all, it's all part of the mission, Newkirk; we have to have as many guys in costume as possible. I don't want to have anyone hanging back because you're trying to make a profit off this," Hogan had told him firmly, ignoring the disgruntled look he was getting in return. 

"Klink agreed to have Schultz and Langenscheidt do a supply run into town to get you whatever materials you need for HIS costume; they can pick up whatever else you need at the same time. I got Klink to give us some money to use; well, really I'm pretty sure it came from Hochstetter - that's how anxious he is for this party to happen. Don't go overboard, though."

Newkirk gave the ceiling a baleful look. "Oh, that's right! Almost forgot about that! Lucky me, I get to figure out 'ow to make a flippin BAT costume! You couldn't 'ave suggested 'e go as Dracula or something simple like that? A dress suit, a nice cape, a drop of vinegar to both eyes to turn em nice and red, and there 'e'd be. Would even 'ave loaned 'im those wooden fangs I made for last year." 

"Yeah, but where would the fun be in that, Newkirk?" Hogan asked with a smirk, getting an incredulous look from the Englishman. "I for one am looking FORWARD to seeing Klink posing as a bat. It could be the highlight of the whole evening."

"You, too, Colonel??" Newkirk groaned. "Bad enough Carter is 'aving the time of 'is young life drawing up lists of games for us to play, and stories to tell. Says 'e even remembered a song they used to sing, and 'e wants the Glee Club to open the festivities with that. Something about a 'aunted 'ouse, I think, with sound effects and everything! Although 'e 'as an alternate if no one fancies that one. 'The Crossroads at Midnight', it's called, which from w'at I 'eard of it from 'is reciting is enough to make any of us think twice about taking the back road into town anymore."

"Calm down, Newkirk, and go make your list. I want to get this show on the road." He walked away to talk to LeBeau about the menu, ignoring the sotto voce complaints from behind him. 

"Same goes for you, LeBeau. Get together a list of what you'll need to put together the refreshments; we'll get it to Langenscheidt before he leaves."

"A list? How am I to prepare a list for making food I do not know how to prepare? Food I cannot even imagine anyone would eat?! Pigs in a blanket? Why would anyone wish to eat a blanket? Bowls of something to drink - A punch? Sans aucun doute, if they can get me some bottles of champagne and fresh berries, or even a fruit liqueur if no berries are to be had, but Carter tells me they did not put champagne or any wine or spirits of any sort in theirs. He says it was more of a 'shrub'. How does one drink a shrub? He does not know, but insists they did. And the candy! There is a war, mon colonel - where are we to find the sugar to make all he speaks of?"

"I know it's not easy, LeBeau; just do the best you can," Hogan offered, turning to head out the door, luckily in time to miss the gesture the Frenchman offered his retreating back with that wooden spoon. Funny, that gesture carried across lines of nationality and culture without any hesitation or difficulty of comprehension.

"Just like a bloody officer, making the grand but bloody well impossible plans, smiling and telling you to 'get with it now', then marching off to polish 'is buttons!" Newkirk complained.

Kinch had been listening, trying not to smile. It really wasn't funny, but yet, it was, the indignation on his two teammates' faces. But as usual, after he listened to them squawk indignantly for a few minutes, he stepped in to calm the waters.

"LeBeau, if I remember it right, a shrub is a drink made with vinegar and water, flavored sometimes with a fruit essence, sometimes herbs. It's usually sweetened some with sugar or honey, or even dissolved jam. A pig in a blanket is just a little cooked sausage wrapped in bread dough and baked til the bread is done. You eat them with some sort of tangy sauce to dip them in. In fact, you made something like that a few months ago, remember, just had a different name. Saucisson en croute, I think you called them.

"Pete, you've seen a bat up close; we've ALL seen a bat up close! Remember Hector, the brown bat Andrew thought would make such a good pet? It shouldn't be that hard. Here, I'll sketch it out - remember that thin rubber sheeting that Klink was sent when he asked for tarps for the roofs, the stuff that had so many pinholes it wouldn't keep out even a drizzle, much less a full-out rain? It's still stuck in the supply shed, rolls of it - use that for the wings, a double layer, with some of that flexible window spline glued in between the layers for the joints. Some rope for a harness, and it's done. Get some of the dog hair from the kennel, use some sort of thinned down glue and go to town on Klink's face and ears. Glue something to the end of a pair of dark gloves to make claws, stick him in a dark suit, hide his monocle, and you're all set. 'Bat-Boy', squinty little beady eyes and all.

Newkirk grinned, his good humor restored by that mental picture. "And we'll need to get out the camera, because I want a picture of that!"

"Hey, that's a real good idea, Newkirk!" Carter's voice came from the doorway, causing them to jump. The three had so busy brainstorming they hadn't even heard him come up. 

{"We need to be more careful; could have been one of the krauts instead of Carter!"} Kinch realized, much to his chagrin.

"See, we can have a camera and take EVERYONE'S picture, in costume! Including Hochstetter and anyone else he brings! Boy, I bet we could find a really good use for pictures of them!"

"Like w'at, Andrew? Doubt the fashion mags would be interested," Newkirk drawled in a long-suffering tone. He absolutely refused to let the others see just how amusing he found the young man and all his crazy ideas and wild enthusiasms. 

He'd learned very early in life that if he expressed any open affection for anything, anyone, he was just jinxing himself AND them in one way or another. Oh, there had been a very few individuals who'd just totally disregarded his staunch noble intentions along those lines, literally FORCED themselves into his affection - Mavis, of course, Maudie, Marisol, and of course, Caeide The Brat, Alfie and his sweet Maisie. Even now he shuddered, wondering how they'd managed to escape what he called the 'Peter Newkirk curse', the one his father, the old bastard, used to claim "that useless pile of shite that thinks to call 'imself my son drags around like a ball and chain." 

That his father had frequently been the source of any resulting bad luck those Peter cared for seemed to suffer, that was something he'd often pondered, had even expressed once, right before he got a beating that was almost the end of him. "Bloody insolent pup!" his father had told him right before pitching him out the door to spend the night wherever he might crawl to. He'd been almost nine at the time.

Here, in this hellhole of a place, he really didn't want to give the Curse, or Fate, or bad luck, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, any opportunity to steal away any more of the people he cared about. And here, though he tried his damnedest not to show it, were more than just a handful of those, although the men in this barracks were at the top of his list. {"I start letting that show, that won't likely be the ONLY list they're on, so watch your step, Newkirk!"} he silently scolded himself.

"Well, I don't know offhand," Carter admitted, "but I just bet we do, later."

And it was Carter who came up with the brilliant idea of what to use to substitute for the candy. "Cause, you gotta have candy! Gee, I even think it's in the rules somewhere!"

"Didn't know there were set down rules for All 'Allows . . . OH, ALRIGHT, ANDREW! For bloody 'Alloween! There, I said it! Are you satisfied??!"

From the grin on Carter's face, yes, he was. The day he could get Newkirk to give in on ANYTHING, that was a day for the recordbooks!

And so it was that submissions for the candy grab-bags were solicited from everyone in camp. 

"Whatever your favorite kind is. Recipes, if you know them, but with real good descriptions in any case. You know, what it smells like to you, looks like. Whether it comes in big chunks, or little round pieces, or long ropes, like licorice whips. How your mouth starts watering just thinking about it. How that first bite tastes, whether it's the melt in your mouth kind, or the crunchy kind, or a chewy kind - whether it's a smash a whole bunch in at once kind, or one of those nibble a little bitty bit kinds. Everything you can remember about it!"

Olsen groaned as he went through the stack of entries. "You know, you could get a stomach ache just READING this stuff!"

"Well," Carter enthused, "that just means they did a real good job! Now, we just make lots of copies of everything, put three in each of those little paper sacks Schultz got us, enough so everybody gets one, and put in an I O U, something like - "I owe you three pieces of candy". maybe signed 'Jack O'Lantern'. To be redeemed after the war, you know, if we can't manage it before."

Well, it made Carter happy, anyway, though the others weren't too sure how ecstatic the guys would be. Newkirk looked at that beaming face and just shook his head in wonder. {"Sometimes, Andrew . . ."}


	4. Chapter 4

"NO! Aint no way! I'm as reasonable a man as any, I like to think, Colonel," pausing to glare at the snickers, coughs and one outright laugh that statement brought about in the barracks, "but there is no way in bloody 'ell I'm making a duck costume! I've done 'alf a dozen vampires, two werewolves, a Sherlock 'olmes, Alice in Wonderland - and don't even get me started on THAT one!!! I made it since Cooper wants to wear it, but I'm not intending to be responsible for 'is safety w'ile 'e does, I'll tell you that!! I've cobbled together a pirate, an elf, Mother Goose, an Indian chief with Andrew loaning 'is bow and arrow for the cause. I've done witches, sorcerers, a flippin snake charmer complete with 'is flippin' snake. Even managed Klink's bat costume, and that came out right nice, too, though 'ow you intend to talk the man into letting me glue dog 'air all over 'is face and ears, I don't know! But I 'ave my limits, and my limits include ducks!"

"Newkirk, you've done great. No one could have done any better. But Klepper has his heart set on going to the party as a duck, and we need him there; he's essential for the Glee Club part of the evening. No one else can do those haunted house sounds like he can! Just give it a try, that's all I'm asking," Hogan told him in a soothing voice, one that evidently failed to soothe the ticked-off Englishman one little bit.

It seemed Newkirk truly HAD had enough. He bridled up and declared, "'ow about you just tell Klepper 'e can just waddle around the room on 'is 'aunches making quacking noises if 'e's so bloody eager to be a flamin duck! Can lay a flippin egg or two w'ile 'e's down there; LeBeau could make us all scrambled eggs in the morning! Though, knowing 'im, 'e'll probably insist on omelettes or some such Frenchy nonsense!" 

From the rebellious look on Newkirk's face, he obviously felt that waddling around making quacking noises was a good notion for HOGAN as well, though he retained enough control not to say that out loud. He quickly filled the silence with what he figured would be the capper.

"Sides, I gotta focus on your big shot and the right sort of costume for 'im. Want something that makes 'im stand out, but in the right sort of way. You know, w'ere you SEE 'im, but w'at you see is so obviously NOT Brueggeman, never COULD be Brueggeman, not in a million years, you just look past. Now, you tell us 'e's a fair enough looking bloke, fancy dresser, neat as a pin, ladies' man, real educated bloke, all that. I was thinking . . ." and he laid out his plan for the unsuspecting Brueggeman.

"Yes, that sounds about right. Get to that. And don't forget about Klepper and his duck costume. Gotta go see Klink! Bye!"

Newkirk groaned and thumped his head on the table a few times. Carter laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"It's okay, buddy. It could have been worse. I managed to talk Jamieson out of being a horse. Well, it helped that he couldn't find anyone willing to be the rear half. A duck can't be any harder than a horse would have been, right??"

"Andrew, just go get in your bunk and shut up, will you???" Newkirk pleaded, not even having the heart to bellow it out like he would usually have done.

Brueggeman hadn't been all that happy about having to wait the extra three days. He was getting antsy, wanted out of Germany NOW! 

Now, having been whisked away by the Underground to a secret location, being presented with a bundle of fur and sandals and a large wooden club, being told to "get those togs on, then sit w'ile I get your makeup in place", didn't go down particularly well either. The straight razor in the man's hands hadn't made him any more comfortable. 

Even hearing the plan, well, as much of it as the insane American was willing to share while the Englishman did those THINGS to his face, his head, did nothing to instill confidence. Well, to give him credit, it was about as wild a plan as could be imagined. When the men had sneaked into his hiding place with the Underground, he'd been expecting something far more, well, basic, less childrens-story-book.

"A cave man?" he asked with wonder, looking at the exceedingly strange creature looking back at him from that mirror.

"Well, we was told you were a real snappy dresser, a real toff of the 'ighest, you know? So, I figured would be best to get as far from that as possible, and this is about as far as you can get, to my way of thinking," Newkirk had told him.

Brueggeman had to agree. He was fairly sure his own mother wouldn't recognize him; he hardly had recognized himself, had to put his hand to his ear and pinch himself, watching that odd creature in the mirror all the time, just to convince himself that was really him. 

If he hadn't been so nervous about the whole thing, he would have found it amusing, but he was fairly sure that odd impulse to start giggling (which he had never done before in his entire life!) was a sign of incipient hysteria, not humor.

"See, Urkle - that's w'at my mate decided to name you, by the way, and no, trust me, you're better off not asking! - it's like this. There's gonna be lots of others in costumes tonight; you'll just be one more. Maybe one of the odder ones, but that should work in our favor. Fact is, you're so bleedin ugly, no one's gonna WANT to take a second look. Did a real fine job on your face, and shaving off most of your 'air in clumps like that just finished the job. You just 'unch forward a sight more, drag that club alongside you, don't do bloody anything except maybe grunt if anyone tries to talk to you, though I doubt they will, not with the way you look. Like I said, you're bleedin ugly, top to bottom."

Taking another look in the mirror, Brueggeman just nodded. Yes, that pretty well described what he saw - 'bleedin' ugly'. At least that part of the plan had worked out well; hopefully the rest would also.


	5. Chapter 5

Hochstetter looked at himself in the mirror with great satisfaction. He made a remarkably handsome William Tell, if he did say so himself. A long bow, taller than he was by quite a bit, would stand above the crowd, would be easily recognizable. No, it was not a crossbow such as the stories said the legendary Swiss hero had carried, but do you know how hard it is to find a crossbow on short notice?? 

Anyway, most there would probably never have heard of William Tell, so would never recognize the implied falsehood, which, in a way, made HIS version really like telling the truth! It was just a matter of looking at the ALTERNATIVE facts! {"Alternative facts - um, I like the sound of that! Maybe when I enter politics after the war, I can use that again!"}

The other costume? Well, that was a different matter entirely. A purple dress of remarkable intricacy, frills and ruffles, lace and silk (or was it satin? He was hardly an expert on such things.). Buttons galore, and yards and yards of what he thought might be called ruchings, or maybe they were pleats, or maybe . . . Oh, whatever they were called, there were probably miles of them! And a hat that should stun anyone who caught a good look! Bohn had said it was very fashionable. Well, it was certainly noticeable, Hochstetter had to admit that, though whether it was fashionable to wear a dead black bird on your head he had his doubts, but the quarter-veil of black net would provide an extra layer of disguise.

He worked through the logistics. Dressing in the William Tell costume, letting that fool Carter see him quite clearly. Mingling for a short while, before returning to these quarters to change into the 'Frau Kohler' costume. 

In the meanwhile, Bohn would be swanning around in Hochstetter's second best uniform, complete with moustache and not-overly-convincing three-quarter mask. At his signal, Bohn would return here to don the William Tell costume and return to the party.

Meanwhile, Hochstetter, in that purple explosion of net and frills, would 'make friends' with the prisoners, take advantage of what must be a deep hunger to even be within speaking range of a woman. 

"Yes, this time, instead of Uncle Gunter, I must remember Aunt Freida. Annoying woman, always sneaking around, listening to other people's conversations while pretending to be so interested in everyone. Yes, tonight I will be Aunt Freida, 'Freida Kohler'!"

Bohn gazed into the mirror with more than a little satisfaction, turning this way and that, adjusting the fit to suit him better. Stroking that false moustache, he pondered how he was going to account for the absense of a moustache during the events afterwards. 

"Perhaps I shaved it off in order to fool this Papa Bear? Yes, that would be logical. Then, I could grow, ah, RE-grow, it afterwards if I choose. Though perhaps I will, perhaps I won't; I . . ."

"What are you muttering about, Bohn?" his cousin snapped from the doorway. "And are you not ready yet?"

Bohn's eyes snapped to Hochstetter, {"ach, what a fool he looks with that longbow! William Tell carried a crossbow; any school child knows that!! Better he should have been the English Robin Hood; at least he would have had it right! And tying an apple to the top end, just to make his point! Perhaps I should suggest a name tag? 'I Am William Tell' just in case anyone does not get the point. In fact . . ."}

He let his eyes grow big with wonder and admiration. "Nothing, and yes. Cousin, I mean, Major! You look wonderful! And what a brilliant idea, dressing as the Swiss William Tell, but using a longbow like the English Robin Hood! It will be easier for the prisoners to relate to you, make them more welcoming, less suspicious! You see, that is why you are the Major and I am just the Corporal! I NEVER would have thought of something so brilliantly effective, yet so astoundingly simple!" Bohn exclaimed, shaking his head, somehow managing to imply both admiration for Hochstetter and sadness for his own lacking of such skills. 

{"Perhaps, after the war, I will go into politics; I believe I would be quite good at it!"}

Hochstetter preened a little. Yes, it HAD been a brilliant move on his part, even if he had done it without conscious thought. Well, that was often the way with natural born brilliance, natural born genius - thought really wasn't necessary, could sometimes even impede the process.

"So, we all know the plan. LeBeau, you stick with the buffet table, try to see that Hochstetter and Bohn get that little something extra in their glass of punch early on." 

Hogan gave the Frenchman a stern look. "And just the amount I said, no getting cute. I want them just a little fuzzy, like maybe they'd had three glasses, not one. I DO NOT want them out cold, or worse! I want them able to testify that absolutely nothing untoward happened!" 

Well, he knew how LeBeau felt about the German officers.

"Carter, Newkirk, you help with the guests as they arrive. Make sure 'Urkel' doesn't run into any trouble. Watch for the best opportunity, AFTER Hochstetter and his pal start looking a little glassy eyed, to get him over to Barracks 3 and down into the tunnels."

"Now, we all know THEIR plan, thanks to that bug in the Kommandant's quarters, so we know about their costume changes. Olsen, you keep on Bohn, both as the fake Hochstetter, then as our William Tell. Scotty, be friendly with our first William Tell; I'll take over when The Lady In Purple arrives. So, any questions?"

"Alright, everybody in positions. Remember, the performance by the Glee Club is our first move, and, by the way, Newkirk, great job on that duck costume! Klepper really appreciates it!"

Peter Newkirk gave the senior prisoner of war a rather jaundiced look. 

"Of course, Colonel. That's w'at I'm 'ere for, after all!"

Although, it wasn't a half-bad job, he had to admit, once he got around the notion of the man actually WANTING to be a duck. Big orange feet, big orange bill, white sheets tucked and tied and patterned with paint to make the feathers really stand out on the wings. Not a bad job, and his fellow prisoner HAD seemed happy with it. Maybe a little TOO happy. He had a feeling said prisoner might be a little reluctant to take that duck costume OFF later, but that would be the Colonel's problem, thankfully. He had enough of his own.

"And Klink?" Kinch asked. "Did he really let you glue all that dog hair on, Newkirk?"

Carter snickered, "well, the Colonel had to keep talking to him, distracting him. Klink kept whimpering "but I'll look like a total fool!" I don't see how you kept from just saying it, Colonel, what we were all thinking. You know, that he already DID, even before Newkirk got started! Even before he put the bat suit on!!"

"Now, Carter, don't make fun of the man," Hogan said with a grin. "He's being a good sport about the whole thing. Under duress, of course, and mostly because he's scared of Hochstetter getting pissed if he DOESN'T, but still, we've got to give credit where credit's due."

Newkirk coughed back a laugh, thinking of those little whimpering sounds Klink kept making with each addition of the glued-on dog hair. 

"Looked a right treat, 'e did, Kinch. That was a right good idea you 'ad, and those extra tufts at the top of 'is ears and fluffing out 'is eyebrows, that turned out right nice, if I might say so. Used some of Ralph's 'air from around 'is flanks, that nice coarse part, you know?"

"Well, I bet he'll be glad to get all that off when this is over. You have that bottle of stuff ready, Carter, what you came up with to dissolve the glue?" Kinch said with a grin.

"Oh, sure, I checked right before I came back up. it's in that little blue bottle, right next to the pot of . . . ". Carter frowned, remembering he'd seen that clay pot of special dissolvable glue still sitting right next to that blue bottle. Shouldn't that pot have been with Newkirk? 

Slowly he turned his eyes to his English teammate. "You didn't. Did you? Newkirk! Sheesh, what's gonna happen when he realizes . . .?"

Hogan frowned, sensing a wrinkle in his lovely plan. "Newkirk? Carter?"

Newkirk gave a slow, wicked smile. "Now, Carter, didn't want all them whiskers falling off 'alf-way through the evening. Sides, man 'as a razor, don't 'e?"

"Carter??" Hogan insisted.

Carter gulped. "Uh, I think maybe my hair remover solution won't work so good, Colonel. I kinda think Newkirk used the regular long-lasting glue, not the special stuff." 

He hastened to defend his friend's actions, no matter how much he really wanted to pop the smirking lout upside the head. 

"Well, I guess I can see his point, Colonel. It wouldn't be so good if the hair started dropping off, unsanitary too, around the food and the punch. And I DIDN'T get a chance to really TEST it, you know, to see how long it'd stick in place."

Kinch turned his face to the wall, knowing this was NOT the right time to burst into laughter, but feeling the pressure inside building up.

"So, le Kommandant, he will continue to look like a bat? Even when he changes back to his uniform?" LeBeau asked, wanting to be sure he'd understood all of that correctly.

"Yeah, probably, Louie. Quite an improvement, if I must say so myself," Newkirk acknowledged. "Probably get a thank you note and all."

Hogan heaved a deep sigh. He should have known better than to have forced Newkirk into making a duck costume; he really should have expected some kind of kickback, but this was unexpected, the direction it took. Oh, well.

"We will have that note of thanks delivered to the Cooler, mon amie, for that is assuredly where you will be spending the rest of the war!" LeBeau offered, with a shake of his head. The trouble his English friend could find to get into!!


	6. Chapter 6

The guests were starting to arrive at the gate, Hogan having taken the precaution of conning Klink into inviting a few outsiders. Some were in some version of a costume, some wore masks, some their regular going-out-to-a-party-at-Stalag-13 clothes. Well, alright, so they didn't HAVE any such, parties at the Stalag not being a common thing, but made do with whatever struck their fancy!

Brueggeman, 'Urkel', slipped in the front gate as two cars arriving at the same time distracted the guards, Rene shooing him along quickly. The Underground leader could have sent one of his men, but he couldn't resist taking a first-hand look, considering what he had heard about the plan. He himself wore a train conductor's uniform, with a half-mask, and carried a roll of tickets on his belt; his lovely Tiger had purred at him, made him laugh with her whispered, "a handsome man in uniform! Oooooohhhh! How is a poor woman to resist?" Well, she hadn't, and he still had a smile on his face at the memory!

Rene gave Urkel over into Carter's care, and mingled with the other guests, the other not-guests, taking note of some of the extremely odd things he was seeing. A man dressed in a woman's wig, wearing a ruffled dress and a pinafore, carrying a white stuffed rabbit that, in turn, was carrying a pocket watch around its paw. And then there was that duck!. And that very hairy bat over in the corner, squinting across the room! {"Mon dieu, is that really KLINK??!"} Hochstetter he recognized, til a whisper from Carter made him shift his eyes over to the man in the odd hat with the longbow. {"Ah, yes. But a longbow? Surely that was a crossbow I have seen in pictures. Two Hochstetter's; now that is a thing I do not wish to contemplate!"}

Such was the strangeness of the entire affair, he hardly blinked when the two Gestapo men disappeared temporarily. 

"Watch, mon ami," LeBeau had whispered, while offering Rene a glass of punch. "They will be back, but in a different form. Well, the one before dressed as the major will now be carrying that ridiculous bow. And as for the major? Be watching for a short woman in a purple dress and outlandish hat!"

Rene was quite sure he would not be able to include all of this in his memoirs, for no one would ever believe him! 

"W'at the bloody 'ell do you mean, Andrew, ''e won't go??!'" Why not??! 'E needs a written invitation to escape??! Did 'e forget the bleedin Gestapo is probably looking for 'im by now??! Likely got a nice cell all swept out and tidy for 'im, thumbscrews and all!" Newkirk demanded.

"He says he can't handle dark spaces. Or being under the ground. Or close quarters. Or bugs. Or mice. Or snakes. All of which he just seems convinced we're keeping down there. Well, there's a bunch more stuff he listed, but that's enough to have him saying he just won't do it!" 

Carter was truly beside himself, none of his current confused and frustrated state an act.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "You didn't tell 'im about Felix, did you, Andrew?"

"Well, only that there was only ONE mouse, and that he was real friendly," Carter admitted. "And that there weren't any bats because you wouldn't let me keep Horace down there. It didn't seem to help."

"No, I imagine it didn't. Nice of you to remind 'im of the possibility of bats w'en 'e 'adn't thought of it all on 'is own, Andrew. We're trying to get the man away from the Nazi's, and 'e's more concerned about the possibility of mice and bats and such! This is the damnedest war! Come on, think it's time I 'ad a nice little chat with our guest! If 'e thinks I'm gonna go making a duck suit, and turning our beloved Kommandant into a bat for nothing, 'e's got another think coming!!!"

Hogan saw the frantic roll of the eyes from Carter, and carefully made his way over to him.

"What's the problem, Carter? Didn't you get our boy safely settled in to the Hospitality Suite?" he whispered, keeping a calm smile plastered on his face.

He listened in pure disbelief at their guest and his long list of phobias. 

"So, wasn't Newkirk able to talk him into braving the wilds of our tunnels versus a Gestapo cell?"

"Well, not exactly, Colonel. Seems he kinda misunderstood some of what Newkirk was telling him. Well, I don't think Urkel understands English all that much. And you know how Newkirk gets, how his accent gets stronger when he's upset, and he starts using words no one around here much understands except him, and he WAS really annoyed about Urkel not wanting to cooperate, so he was kinda wound up."

"Misunderstood? Didn't Newkirk explain the difficulties involved, and that braving a few bugs is better than some other vermin we have crawling around here? Like a certain Gestapo major?"

"Well, yeah, and I think that was starting to get through to him, but then he started focusing on what ELSE Newkirk was saying. Now he's refusing to let Newkirk or any of the rest of us anywhere near him, keeps trying to dodge back out the door, says it's better to just turn himself in. Seems he thinks Newkirk is a witch or a sorcerer or something. He kinda got the idea that Newkirk really DID turn one of the guys into a duck, and Klink into a bat, and who knows what else! He's in a corner making little whimpery noises, looking at Newkirk like he's gonna faint if Newkirk even raises a finger!"

Hogan just stared in sheer disbelief. {"This war just gets weirder and weirder every damned day!"}

A smiling Colonel Hogan (and yes, that smile WAS starting to look a little forced!) wandered over to stand behind a sulking LeBeau. 

And sulking the Frenchman certainly WAS. Serving food he didn't think worthy of his talents, preparing a totally inadequate punch out of very bad champagne, even worse home-made spirits, and a jar of raspberry jam (he had flat out refused to make or serve a 'shrub', no matter what threats or promises were made!) and watching it being guzzled by Hochstetter (now in a purple dress and hat that was just another offense to the Frenchman's eyes and sensibilities) and the second William Tell, made him poker up.

"LeBeau, did you get . . ."

"Oui, mon colonel. One dose each, just as you said," he muttered in return. Hogan graciously ignored the rest of what was being muttered, the profane description of the men's families, personal descriptions, and probable habits. Not that much of that probably wasn't true, of course, or at least possible, - it just wasn't the right time to be expounding on all that.

"Great! Now, go slip the dear lady another two doses, as soon as possible. Don't let anyone catch you!"

LeBeau frowned, puzzled, then shrugged. Drugging the Gestapo major would be the only truly satisfying part of the whole evening; he wasn't one to look a gift cheval in the mouth. Quickly he prepared another tray of drinks, carefully noting which one had the double dose, and started to make his way through the crowd.

"Kinch, collect Rene for me; he's in the train conductor's uniform. You come back with him; I have a job for him, for you too. Well, a couple, actually."

A plan was forming, no, had already formed in Hogan's mind. It was crazy, but what else was new? This whole operation was flat out crazy, but so far the rest of it had worked, and he was running out of options.


	7. Chapter 7

"Kinch, get over to our temporary guest quarters and knock our visitor out for awhile. No, not with your fist! If I wanted that, I'd let Newkirk do it. Sounds like he's just about ready to do that anyway. Get a glass of punch from LeBeau, two doses, not one. Pour it down our visitor's throat, by force if necessary. Then you and Newkirk hightail it over to Klink's quarters through the tunnel, WITH our guest. Wait down below til I give you the signal. We'll be there pretty soon with Hochstetter and his buddy."

Kinch narrowed his eyes, "should I ask?"

Hogan sighed and shook his head, "probably not, and there's no time anyway. I'll explain when I get there. Just get going."

"Rene, old pal, YOU are going to be the helpful citizen who volunteers to drive our ailing Lady in Purple to the doctor. I am sure Bohn will want to tag along. We'll radio your people to intercept you at the crossroads."

"Ailing? I saw no signs . . ."

There was a thud, then a commotion from the other side of the room, and Hogan gave a satisfied smile. 

"As I said, ailing. Come on, we'll get the dear lady to Klink's quarters. Be prepared to get your car and pull it up right in front of the door there when I step back outside and run my hand through my hair. Then you'll be the Good Samaritan, offering your services."

Bohn tagged along to Klink's quarters, concern written all over his face. Well, it would have been if he hadn't been wearing a mask, but his entire demeanor expressed extreme anxiety over the fate of the 'dear Frau!'. He was a little hazy on just what had happened back there; he hadn't SEEN his cousin taking more than three or four cups of that nasty-tasting punch. Perhaps it was stronger than it tasted. But then, he himself had only taken the one cup, and never having liked the taste of raspberries, declined to take another, setting each cup aside at the first opportunity.

"Here, Major," Hogan offered. "Best take a drink of this; you're not looking all that well yourself," handing Bohn a glass of schnapps, suitably if undetectably enhanced with another couple of those little pills. If this kept up, they were going to have to get in another supply.

Within minutes, Hogan rapped on the stove pipe, and soon the rapid exchange was in play. Hochstetter OUT of his fashionable ensemble, Urkel INTO that outfit. Bohn OUT of his William Tell costume and back into Hochstetter's uniform. They all looked down at Hochstetter, resplendant in his underwear. 

"Can we just leave 'im like that, Colonel? A lovely sight, 'e is," Newkirk offered.

Hogan started to frown and give a sharp answer, but then a sneaky smile started to form. "Actually, Newkirk, that's a great idea!"

The signal given, the gallant services of the train conductor offered and accepted, everyone else kept well back, and Rene drove off, one drugged Lady in Purple in the backseat, one whoozy man in a Gestapo Major's uniform laying with his head on her shoulder, and one mostly unclad moustached man laying with his head in the major's lap.

"Lovely, that was, Colonel. Now w'at?"

"Now, we go back in and keep the party going, keep Klink occupied. Just keep smiling, gentlemen; everything's going just . . ."

His voice trailed off as the gates opened again, and this time a staff car entered.

"Bloody 'ell! It's Burkhalter!"

"What were you saying, mon colonel? Perhaps that everything was going just fine, all according to plan? Yes, it does appear to be so," LeBeau nodded with true Gallic resignation. "What do we do now?"

Hogan sighed, running his hand through his hair for real this time, in sheer frustration. 

"Like I said. We go back in and keep the party going. If anyone asks about Hochstetter or Bohn, well, we don't know much - just that there was a lady here who'd taken ill, and the Major insisted on escorting her personally to the doctor in town. Maybe Bohn went along, but we really don't know. I'll spin it to Burkhalter once I figure out how. Kinch, hurry, get on the radio; make sure the Underground doesn't waste any time. This has to be timed just right!"

Upon hearing from the guards that everyone was over in the Rec Hall 'for the Halloween party, Herr General', Burkhalter made his way over to the building where, even from where he stood when he'd exited his car, he could hear the clamber of voices. One guard had scurried ahead to let the Kommandant know about the newest arrival, and Burkhalter was greeted at the door by . . . 

"A BAT??! Klink, what is this madness??! Take off that ridiculous mask! Have you no sense of dignity??!"

Klink hunched his shoulders, the tension causing those cords to also tighten and his wings to abruptly unfurl to their full majesty, causing the hefty general to jump back out of reach. 

"But there is no mask, General Burkhalter. There is merely me, well, . . ."

Burkhalter's mouth dropped open as he took in the sight - tiny beady eyes squinting at him, blinking rapidly - hairy face and ears, those segmented shiny wings - and he shuddered. If he had thought Klink repulsive before, this solidified his innermost feelings.

"General! Welcome to our little Halloween party," Hogan hurried up to interject. "Boy, this is our lucky night! First Major Hochstetter and his good friend Corporal Bohn decide to join in the fun, and now you! The guys are gonna be so excited to see you here. Hey, let me get you a glass of punch! And there's some food left, if the Major hasn't eaten it all. Man, he can really chow down, can't he??! Want me to see if we have a spare mask laying around somewhere for you to use?"

"Hogan! Where IS Major Hochstetter? I cannot believe he is a part of your 'little party'!"

"Well, he WAS, but see, there was this lady, a real looker if you know what I mean! Not so much my type, but the major seemed real taken with her. And she wasn't feeling so good, so the major decided to take her into town, wink, wink," giving a real man-to-man grin. "I think he said something about taking her to the doctor, or maybe playing doctor, or something like that."

Burkhalter took a long look around, another look at Klink, giving another deep shudder, and turned and walked back out the door.

"Schultz! Get my driver, we are going after the Major. I want HIS explanation of this evening, before he has time to become otherwise occupied! And have one of your men follow along in Klink's car; no, make that two men, two cars."

Burkhalter and his small parade caught up to the car, parked not too far out of camp, along the side road by the crossroads. It was a memorable experience for everyone involved.

The trip back to Stalag 13 was a very quiet one. Hochstetter had been placed in one car, Bohn in another, and Burkhalter had ridden in solitary splendor in his own staff car. He wanted to marshall his thoughts before he lowered the proverbial boom on those two!

"A clandestine operation? On whose part?? And you funded this?? Major, are you telling me that you used precious resources of the Third Reich in order to join with the prisoners to celebrate an American childrens' holiday??! In order to trick them into somehow giving you information about Papa Bear?? This is what you are telling me?" Burkhalter yelled. 

"And you are wearing that, that . . . in order to ferret out their secrets? A dress, a hat with a dead bird sitting on top? Yes, I can see how that would make them want to tell you all about whatever foolishness they are up to. It would certainly make ME want to tell you anything at all . . .JUST TO GET RID OF YOU!!!

"And you, Corporal Bohn, you pretended to be Major Hochstetter? Wore his dress uniform? Yes, yes, Major, I know, you both told me. But it is really beside the point if he did or did not have your permission to wear your uniform - that is a different matter, one we will discuss later! Impersonating a superior officer is not acceptable! Do you see my Adjutant going around impersonating me????"

Well, since Burkhalter was built like a large barrel, and his Adjutant was built like a rake, there wasn't much possibility of that, but his point was understood.

General Burkhalter, while having a quiet visit with his beloved sister the following day, related what he had seen at that party, then what they had found when they'd come across that parked car. 

"Gertruda, you would not believe! I have no idea what Hogan and his men were up to, but I don't really care! To see Klink dressed as a bat was an image I will carry with me forever! And I understand he is having a great deal of difficult in getting that hair off! You must really find a reason to visit him before he does! The war does not give us too many moments of amusement, not so many as to ignore the opportunity when one arises.

"And to open those car doors to find Lieutenant Bohn dressed as Hochstetter, with his fake moustache coming unstuck, and, ah Gertruda! Hochstetter in a purple dress with lace and ruffles and lipstick, and a hat that Mother would have given the week's food budget to possess. In fact, I think I will see if I can find one like it before her next birthday! Like a huge plate, with feathers, netting, and what looked like a black bird, possibly a small crow perched on the side. Mother is, in many ways, an admirable woman, but her fashion sense truly IS abominable!

"Well, Hochstetter was ALMOST dressed in a purple dress; there were certain irregularities, you understand, in the fastenings being not quite fastened, the skirts tucked in a most immodest fashion, resulting in a most inappropriate display. And Bohn's uniform was also perhaps not in such a modest form either. It was enough to make a man speculate just what WAS going on in that back seat, you know?"

Corporal Bohn was slumped on the bench at the railway station, awaiting the time when he would join the other fifty or so men headed to a very cold destination. 

He still wasn't sure what had gone wrong, could remember very little, actually, though that last conversation with his cousin, Major Hochstetter, that he remembered quite well.

Hochstetter had been close to frothing at the mouth. "And what you were intending, I do NOT know, and frankly do not WANT to know! Yes, yes, you have told me you were taking me to the doctor in town! Though why you felt it necessary to disarrange my dress and undergarments to that extent, you have NOT explained! Or why my uniform, that YOU were wearing, was similarly disarranged! At least, you have not offered ME any explanation, and it would appear you were unable to offer one to General Burkhalter either! Just be thankful I am giving you this opportunity to continue serving the Third Reich instead of some OTHER options that come to mind! Only out of respect for Uncle Gunter, mind you!"

Now, Major Hochstetter stood at the edge of the station, watching that bench quite carefully. He didn't want his cousin deciding to try to avoid making that train. After all, he had gone to a great deal of trouble getting him a place on it.

Without turning his head, he addressed the Lieutenant standing at his shoulder. 

"And you understand what is required, Lieutenant Schmidt?"

A wolfish grin came to the tall blond young man behind him. "Of course, Herr Major. The rail overpass across the Elschtein River is quite high, the gorge below quite rocky, and the river most deep at that point. It would indeed be unfortunate if any of the men should decide to depart the train there, especially at the rate of speed we will be going. Still, I believe there is a group of three that are perhaps foolhardy enough to attempt such, possibly as a result of a boyish wager about passing from one car to another? Such a shame, too; all men of quite old loyal German families. Yes, they perhaps got into a bit of mischief, but to throw away such a wonderful opportunity to redeem themselves because of such foolishness! Such a shame."

Hochstetter turned to nod appreciatively at Schmidt, taking an envelope out of his inner pocket and handing it over. 

"You will go far, in my estimation, Schmidt. You are far too intelligent, too valuable to waste on the Russian Front. Here are your new orders; keep them with you. They instruct you to deliver your troops to the unit awaiting further transportation, and then for you to return to Berlin. I do believe you have a promotion waiting for you there."

Epilogue:

Haven - five years after the war had ended

"Andrew-luv, you're looking particulary gloomy. W'at's eating at you?" Newkirk asked, draining his cup of coffee and reaching for the pot for a refill.

"Well, I was watching Maude and Mari and Caeide making candy yesterday." Andrew seemed to drift back into that cloud he sometimes disappeared into. 

Newkirk and the others waited, patiently. He would come back to them, sometimes it just took awhile. The war had affected each of them, if perhaps in different ways, and they were as patient and understanding of each other as they knew the others would be with them.

"Alright," Newkirk finally asked, when the continued silence showed no sign of breaking, "so w'at about the candy? Would 'ave thought that would 'ave you all excited, seeing as 'ow many different types they 'ave planned. All your favorites, and mine too."

The sadness in those brown fawn's eyes startled him, had him wanting to reach out and gather the younger man tightly to him in comfort, to protect him from whatever had made him so sad. That instinct had never faded, not from the first time he'd laid eyes on Andrew.

"Remember Hochstetter's Halloween Party? Those candy grab-bags? Well, I just remembered them, and we never DID make good on those I O U's, Peter," Andrew explained, his voice reflecting just how hard that realization had been.

Of course, that led to a full disclosure of the events of that evening, to the accompaniment of many gasps and chuckles. AND to a discussion of how that oversight could be rectified and that smile restored to their Andrew's face.

And THAT, in turn, led to Ian having to bring in another two loads of supplies in his small plane, and then having to take out loads of small boxes, addressed to the last known address of everyone who had been at that party, would have gotten one of those bags at that long-past party. Well, everyone who had walked out of that camp alive, and there were a few who hadn't, but that was another story entirely.

And tucked into the top of each box? A note. 

"Dear Stalag 13 Alumnus. Sorry it took so long to make good on that I O U from the Halloween party. I made it a full dozen assorted pieces of homemade candy, instead of just the three, to help make amends for the delay. Best wishes." And it was signed 'Jack O'Lantern'.

Of course, some went undelivered, some the recipients read the note and shook their heads, having put that episode totally out of their minds. But for more than a few? Ah, there were the slow smiles, gradually broadening and forming into laughs of remembrance - of that party that had SOME purpose, though they never really knew what, of Klink with his hairy face and rubber wings, and so much more. 

And from those? Well, some few of those, they sat down to write a reply, even though it was only to 'Jack O'Lantern' at a particular international post office box. And thus a correspondence was begun, a relationship renewed.

Peter looked at the stack of mail Ian had delivered. 

"Andrew, I think you've created a monster, you 'ave; 'ope 'Jack O'Lantern' is up to writing a lot of letters, cause 'e surely 'as a lot of letters waiting for 'im!"

But that grin of sheer delight on Andrew's face, that was all Peter had hoped for. {"Just 'ope the ladies know 'e's gonna expect them to do this again sometime!"}


End file.
